


New Rules

by Thankyoumissvanjie (caringis_notanadvantage)



Series: The Darkest Timeline [1]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Smut, Song fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 14:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20967725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caringis_notanadvantage/pseuds/Thankyoumissvanjie
Summary: Most people knew about the breakup in October. The one that had happened not long after his birthday.It was the breakup.Or more accurately - it had been the first breakup.The other one? The final one? That one came a month or so later.





	New Rules

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sohytes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sohytes/gifts).

> Sohytes asked and I delivered. Probably not what she wanted but then you shouldn't ask for it. <3 <3 
> 
> enjoy and please comment below. This is a prequel to Notebooks and is set before the cast for s11was revealed but post-breakup.

_Talkin' in my sleep at night, makin' myself crazy_  
_Out of my mind, out of my mind_  
_Wrote it down and read it out, hopin' it would save me_  
_Too many times, too many times_  
_My love, he makes me feel like nobody else, nobody else_  
_But my love, he doesn't love me, so I tell myself, I tell myself_

* * *

  
  
Most people knew about the breakup in October. The one that had happened not long after his birthday.

It was the breakup.

Or more accurately - it had been the _first_ breakup.

The other one? The final one? That one came a month or so later.

They had been messy hoes.

They had yelled and fucked. Kept on going back to each other despite promising that this time was the last.

It was as if they were playing a sick game of chicken, trying to force the other one to finally close the door.

To stop answering, to push back.

To say no.

None of them ever did.

  
  
Vanjie always felt like she was two steps away from moving on, and then an Instagram notification would pop up on her phone.

  
  
An orange heart had never looked that good or that hurtful.

  
  
She tried to drink the pain away, tried to not care too much about the fact that Brock seemed to be living his best life.

  
  
That he was moving on, fucking his way through the trade present at all the gay bars in the midwest.

  
  
She needed to put a stop to this.

  
  
Before the cast was revealed before they had to relive their romance on screen.

  
  
It was too painful.

  
  
She needed some new rules.

* * *

_One: Don't pick up the phone_  
_You know he's only callin' 'cause he's drunk and alone_

* * *

> _ **Terror toes is calling** _

Vanjie ignored the vibrating phone, that was buzzing away next to her makeup. She had a gig to prepare for, a mindset to get into.

She didn’t need this.

She didn’t need him.

_Oh, but she did._

It was hard, almost impossible, to leave the phone alone. Brock smiling face taunting him from his cracked iPhone screen.

She needed to let him go.

Yet, her heart was beating out of her chest, palms sweaty and knees weak. Like a low budget Latina version of a shitty Eminem song.

He was calling.

It could mean something.

It could mean _everything._

What if he regretted what had happened in October? What if he wanted to start over again?

_What if… what if… what if…_

Vanjie might be stupid but she was no idiot. She knew that he was probably just calling because he was drunk and in his feelings.

She had to know, though.

So she picked up the phone, feeling weak and stupid.

Picked it up knowing that she was a fool, who was too hooked up on a broken heart to do anything about it.

“Hey, toes,”

_“Hi Papi”_

Tomorrow… Tomorrow she would start ignoring him.

* * *

_Two: Don't let him in_  
_You'll have to kick him out again_

* * *

The knocking on his front door was what woke him. It was way past midnight and his head had only just hit the pillow, body overcome with exhaustion in every cell.

  
Having just performed at Mickey’s, he was still covered in glitter, not caring that it would be all over his expensive sheets come morning.

  
José wanted to ignore the knocking, wanted to sleep forever.

  
Yet, he couldn’t.

  
He had this weird sense of who it could be at the door, and he wanted to let him stew about.

  
Make him work for it.

Maybe beg a little. 

Perhaps, he wanted him to storm in and take José in his arms and promise to never let him go.

The knocking never stopped and José knew he had to open the door, or his neighbours would give him shit come morning, and he was already in bad standing with Ike after he threw up in the stairway two weeks ago. 

So he shuffled across the living room, trying to postpone the inevitable. As he reached the door he took a second, and then he opened the door.

“Hey,”

“You trying to piss off Ike, Mami? He still angry at yo white ass after you almost gave me a blow job in the hall last month!”

“I don’t remember any complaints, Papi,”

“Just get in here, boo,”

Next time he knocked, José wouldn’t answer.

_He wouldn’t._

* * *

  
_Three: Don't be his friend_  
_You know you're gonna wake up in his bed in the morning_  
_And if you're under him, you ain't gettin' over him_

* * *

He couldn’t even remember how they had ended up here. In this room, on this bed.

José remembered seeing Brock from across the room like some shitty ass Netflix original romance movie. How they had met on the dancefloor, grinding all over each other.

After that everything got a bit hazy.

There was an Uber.

Some fumbling in an elevator.

And then the hotel room.

Brock was hovering over him, the muscles in his arms straining as his lips were nipping and biting at his collarbone.

No matter what happened they would always be fan-fucking-tastic at sex. Brock able to take him apart and put him back together in a single breath.

José was delirious with need, as Brock had spent the better part of an hour opening him, always keeping him on edge, tauntingly slow then tantalizing fast.

His body was almost vibrating, every nerve ending on fire.

Brock had him right where he wanted him, his dumb-ass sexier-than-fair smirk seemed to communicate directly to José’s dick, as he felt himself get impossibly harder.

It’s not easy getting over your ex when he has no trouble getting you under him.

“Please,” José knew that he was whining, knew that come morning he would hate himself for being so weak.

It didn’t matter right now.

All that mattered was getting Brock to fuck him.

“Please what?” Brock was taunting José, his voice deep and only slightly out of breath.

“Please fuck me, please,” the words had barely left his lips before Brock entered him. For a second everything turned static as José’s whole burned seemed to burst into stars.

The sensations were agonizingly amazing, hurting in the most beautiful way possible. Brock knew his body better than anyone, every spot ever corner and every which way to make him feel good.

This time was no different, as he thrust deep and hard, filling José in the best of ways, their skin gliding against each other.

It was dirty, it was hot, it was stupider than stupid.

José had promised himself that he wouldn’t do this anymore.

That last time really had been the last.

He had seen Brock’s Instagram stories, knew that he was in LA for the day.

José had vowed to himself, Jason and Silky that he would be a stupid hoe. Wouldn’t pull a Vanjie and get fucked by his ex.

_Again._

Yet, all his dumb ass had to do was look into those blue eyes and then he forgot all about those promises. Everything faded away until all that was left was regrets, want and love.

So much love.

Which was why he was here, in this bed.

His heart racing, thoughts scattered and senses on high alert. Brock was perfect, beautiful as his muscles strained, sweat slowly dripping down his abs.

He was everything José wanted and needed.

Their moans mixed together with the sound of the headboard hitting the wall. None of them cared about being quiet.

“Fuck, Mami,” José was delirious with the sensations, his toes curling in on themselves and Brock was working him towards what felt like the best possible way to die.

He leaned down and bit José’s collarbone, knowing how it drove him mad, the sudden burst of pain all he needed to fall off that cliff.

For a moment, the world seemed to disappear, and then it burst into a firework of colour, sensation and vibrations.

His back arched as he came with a shout, his throat left feeling scratchy and used. Brock kept on thrusting into him, helping him ride the waves of pleasure that kept on coming.

Brock soon followed him with a loud groan, collapsing on top of José, his weight a welcoming sensation that reminded him of hot summer nights and Sundays spent in bed.

The memory felt like getting splashed with a bucket of cold water. A painful reminder of what had been.

They couldn’t keep on doing this.

* * *

  
_I got new rules, I count 'em_

* * *

  
** _This be it. I cant be doin’ this anymore toes. I’m sayin no. - V_ **

** _Okay, guess this is it, then. - B_ **

** _Yup. - V_ **


End file.
